REVIEW: Sonic Ultimate Chicken Club Sandwich

Their cherry limeades were refreshing, you could assault your tater tots with a respectable kind of chili and a delightfully processed cheese-product, and their burgers were served both hot and fresh. (Oh, and the foot long chili-cheese coneys. Man, those things were boss.) The carhops skated their way to your door with a smile, the milkshakes were of out-of-sight, and former teen idol Frankie Avalon was all over their advertising spots imploring you to drive in and stuff your face with nostalgic abandon.

Then everything fell apart.

Frankie left to go do, I don’t know, Frankie Avalon things. The smiling carhops were replaced with an unwholesome blend of surly teens and recent parolees. The food quality —once an oasis of flavor in a sea of grey-meat, limp-French fried fast food inequity — fell off. And then, you know, those two dudes showed up blabbering inanely in their car.

But look, get ready because Sonic is changing the game, you guys. Enter The ULTIMATE CHICKEN CLUB. (All caps mine, and added for emphasis.) I mean, it’s got “ultimate” RIGHT there in the name, so you know it’s legit. In fact, why aren’t you eating one right now?

Well, I’ll tell you why you aren’t: because it’s a swing and a miss.

Now, it’s not a “swing and totally miss, spin in a cartoon circle and fall on your butt” kind of thing. Maybe it’s akin to a foul tip or perhaps a valiant effort on a devastating curveball.

If you’re familiar with the concept of a “club” sandwich, you know what’s going on here — it mostly means someone added bacon and tomatoes. Sometimes there are toothpicks and diagonal cutting involved, but generally not on fast-food chicken sandwiches.

Anyway, in this case, it was cold black bacon and mealy garbage tomatoes. They rounded out this trip to Terror Town with some inoffensive, but useless, shredded lettuce, a thin, runny mayo (they claim is was black peppercorn mayo, but they’ve given me no reason to take them at their word), a sweaty slice of flavorless cheddar cheese, and a tempura-ish battered chicken breast filet that was as thick as a new package of loose-leaf notebook paper and just as delicious.

This sandwich was, in 13 words, a loose conglomeration of mediocre ingredients melded together in an orgy of disappointment. It tasted like a flavorless collection of toppings atop a bland chicken-block. Your uncle Gary does better at his Memorial Day cookouts, to be sure.

Really, the best thing this sandwich had going for it was the soft, fresh brioche bun, because it’s like that old adage goes, “everything’s better on brioche.”

There wasn’t anything new or interesting here, but honestly, that’s fine and it wasn’t the problem. Not every limited time fast food offering needs to reinvent the wheel. Let’s leave the stuffing and cramming and nachofication of America to those zany R&D people at Taco Bell. But in the meantime, you can win a lot of points with a solid chicken club sandwich. If you’re gonna do it, though, do it well. And if the execution leaves so much to be desired, maybe think about canning the “Ultimate” tag.

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11 thoughts to “REVIEW: Sonic Ultimate Chicken Club Sandwich”

I used to live a few blocks away from the original Sonic- and it WAS AMAZING back in the day. Then something evil and homogenized happened and they became as common as anything else. Really grinds my gears. Enjoyed your review, Brandon and we’re glad you’re here!

Great review! Looking forward to more of yours in the future! The nearest Sonic to me is about an hour and a half, sometimes I see their commercials and wish they were closer. This review made me glad I dont live near one. What a boring sounding sandwich, and for 1,000 calories?? Gross. And what a waste of calories.

Good review! 1000 calories? I’m kinda new to Sonic and only went once cause it was the pits…
Had No idea it used to be good . Maybe I should be happy cause then I’m not missing the good old days. i don’t know Frakie valley… And (for shame) I like the two car idiots!

A few years ago Sonic had an item on its menu they termed a “steak sandwich.” It consisted of a hamburger patty in a chicken-fried steak-like breading, then deep-fried. It was similar to a chicken-fried steak but with hamburger instead of steak. The result was extra greasy, but crispy and delicious none-the-less. It usually came on Texas Toast, which I changed to a regular hamburger bun in my order along with chili, cheese onions & mustard only. The resulting mess was spectacularly delicious. I called it The Cardiologist’s Dream Burger.